


Saving Each Other

by LadybugsFanfics



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with some sweet moments, Blood, Dark, F/M, Gore, Mobster AU, Mobster Tom Hiddleston, everything dark in my mind when i read through it, i feel like the whole story happens at night, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadybugsFanfics/pseuds/LadybugsFanfics
Summary: Requested by @/zombiebunny97:Could I request Mob! Tom Hiddleston X reader whose easily fluster maybe the reader accidently gets involved with mobs/gangs. Maybe gets caught in fight or something. Tom ends ups helping the reader and trying to protect them from other mobs/gangs and maybe Tom's other members notice him getting all buddy buddy like with the reader and even tease him a bit for fun.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Reader
Kudos: 19





	Saving Each Other

The night lay as a silent blanket over London. In the night sky, the moon lights the way down the sidewalk. The air is only background noise; the thump of his foot hitting the ground; the few sounds of cars driving ways off; the small chatter from an open window in the apartment building across the street. 

No one else walks out at this time of the night. No one purposelessly walks around London at two in the morning. No one walks around _this_ part of London at two in the morning. 

Yet as he reaches the end of the block and has the angle to peer into a back alley, he knows the fault to his logic. 

The muffled screams is what draws him in. Mixed with groans and hushed male voices it sounds like someone’s either being kidnapped or in a fight (a one-sided fight). Despite the fact that his own ways aren’t always filled with good intentions, the muffled screams sounds like the desperate pleas of a woman. He might not always be on the right side of the law, but he isn’t going to leave someone to people that will do no good. 

He crosses the street with long, light steps. Each one is calculated to match where he needs to be to peek into the alley to get the best view. 

A woman lies pinned beneath a bigger, stronger man. His left hand covers her mouth, muffling her pleas to be let go. He sits atop her, his free hand caressing her cheek, wiping away stray tears. Another man sits above the woman’s head, holding her arms tight in his grasp. 

His eyes flicker from one man to the other. Both are rather big, both look to have weapons on them, but nothing else than the gun poking out of the guy pinning the woman down, he can’t see. 

However, he coughs to gain their attention. The three people all turn their heads his way. The two men glare at him for a moment. And then, realization dawns on them. Neither let go of the woman, but instinctively, they both reach for their weapons. 

“You want to do this the easy way?” he asks, a hint of a smile on his face. “Or the hard way?” 

The man holding the woman’s arms lets go and stands up. The other man uses his free hand to grab the arms, pinning them to her chest instead, her struggle made harder. 

“How?” asks the man, “can you take out the two of us?” 

He smiles. “You tell me. The easy way or the hard way?” 

“The no way.” 

A shot is fired.

The man collapses on the ground and the muffled screams of the woman is less muffled than before, the shrieking sound escaping through the gaps between the alive man’s fingers. 

His eyes flicker to the woman instead of the body before him. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, yet there’s less fear in her voice as their gaze locks. Something switches behind her eyes and in that moment she’s calculated. In a silent conversation, he moves his gun to the other man.

“Now, which way would you like?” he asks, cocking his head slightly and letting the smile flicker back onto his face. 

The man’s eyes betray the stoic expression on his face. No twitching happens to his mouth, or his nose, but his eyes continuously flicker between the gun, his face and the shadows of the alley. 

His own eyes fall on the woman. Pleading eyes stare back at him, but when he nods and tries for a reassuring smile, her eyes crinkle a little at the sides. He presses the trigger. The shot rings across the alley as the man collapses to his side, freeing the woman pinned underneath. 

She hesitates for a moment, a moment enough for something to move out of the shadows. He fixes his gun on the moving shadow. It’s fast, coming up behind the woman as she gets to her feet and using her as a shield. 

Her body goes rigid, her hands yet again tied and her eyes going wide with fear. The man behind her is smaller than the two dead on the ground, hiding behind her in frame, but his head sticks out atop hers as he rises to full height. 

“And which way do you want?” he asks and directs the gun at the man. The woman’s eyes flicker between the gun and him, the barrel looking almost as if it’s fixed on her. 

“You won’t shoot me,” says the man, “the woman’s standing too close f―”

The shot is louder than the first two. The woman shakes, nearly collapsing on the ground, but she manages to find the wall and leans against it. 

He puts the safety on and tucks the gun back into his pants. With careful steps, he walks around the bodies on the ground and towards the woman. She eyes him warily. The closer he gets, the more her ragged breath can be heard. The closer he gets the easier he can see her chest heave, and notice the tremble in her legs. 

“It’s okay. It will be okay,” he says, voice gentle and low. He reaches out a hand to her, and though her expression still shows her fear, she takes his hand and lets him lead her away from the scene. 

As they walk, he whispers small words of comfort. He holds around her, feels her trembles slowly disappear and hears her get control of her breath. In moments, they’ve reached her apartment building, reached her home. 

Before he leaves her to walk inside, he gives her his number and name. 

If Tom Hiddleston can do anything to make sure she never feels that fear again, he will. 

The phone lights up as it starts to vibrate on the table. Moments later the ringtone follows. Tom glances down at the name _, your name_ , that lights up. 

The few men around the table look to him as he picks it up and walks out of the room to answer in privacy. He presses the green button and puts the phone to his ear. “Hello,” he says, voice low and despite not having heard your voice yet, a smile has already formed on his face. 

“ _Hi_ ,” you say. “ _Do you have some time?_ ” 

“Is it important?” 

You don’t answer at first. He can hear your breathing through the phone, but he doesn’t press, doesn’t tell you that he’s supposed to be in a meeting. 

“ _Kind of._ ” You sigh. “ _I… I have to walk past…_ ” The nervousness is clear in your voice, the slight tremble is evident as he knows what to search for. 

It’s only been a few days since he saved you from those men, since he walked you home and told you to call him if you ever felt scared again. And in those few days, he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

Tom nods as he replies. “I have time. When do you have to go?” 

“ _I have to be at work in an hour._ ” 

“Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll see you soon.” He hears your little bye before he hangs up and walks back into the room. 

The men around the table seize talking as he steps through the door. The smile he had whilst he talked to you has vanished and in replace is the stoic poker face he usually has in these situations. 

“You have ten minutes to persuade me.” 

A man at the end scrambles up from his chair. He pulls a hand through his hair, straightens his tie and opens his mouth. No sound comes out. Only a brief hitch of breath and then the man sits down again. 

Tom closes his eyes, presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. 

“Mr. Hiddleston.” He opens his eyes. “There’s a woman. Pretty, intelligent. A bartender.” The man walks around the table, stopping behind Tom’s right hand man’s chair. “A few weeks ago, at the bar where she works, she stepped into a… let’s call it an argument. She’s smart, but she does not know what she has gotten herself into.” 

The man takes a few long strides and stops in front of Tom. He’s a few inches shorter. The look in his eyes the same he has seen in countless other men trying for his job. He holds eye contact, mouth a long, thin line with a slight tug at the end. He carries the smug look of every man before him. 

“This woman, Mr. Hiddleston, is a problem for our work. She doesn’t tie to anyone that can do us harm, but she will be missed if something were to happen.” The man steps around, walking back to his seat. “But the problem, you see, is that she knows more than she lets on. And the other day, some men tried to silence her. Only to be interrupted. We don’t know who killed the men, but we do know they tie to our little community.” 

Tom lets a smile flicker onto his lips. The ten minutes soon up, and unfortunately, he knows too well who the man talks about. “I have to admit I’m not sure exactly what it is you’re trying to get from me.”

The man laughs. A chuckle that has no real emotions in it. “Oh, _Loki_. I’m not trying to get anything. I just wanted to let you know, because of your previous run ins with pretty women in need of protection, most of us are not sure whether your position is… the right one.” 

“Time’s up.” Tom stares at the man, the smile on his face growing bigger until he’s grinning. He leans his hands against the table, smiling up at the man who sits back down, smug smile still on his face. “I’m sorry, _Barber_ , but you’re not nearly trying hard enough. If you want my job, try your best. And you will see that even your best will never be enough.”

His eyes glances over every man in the room. The ones working for him all with the same expression; uninterested. The other two thirds are both squirming in their chairs and looking at him with smug expressions. 

Tom turns around. “I must apologize for my early dismissal, but I suppose none of you really care.” He walks with his back to the men. The door creaking open as he turns the handle. One look behind him, one dead body later, he gets into a car and drives to help you. 

You open the door with a smile, giving Tom a quick hug before grabbing your purse and keys. As you lock the door, you thank him. Again, and again, and again. 

“Stop thanking me, darlin’. It’s a pleasure to help you,” he says, after the hundredth time. His hand is placed on the small of your back and you lean in for a small hesitant hug as the words leave his lips. At the gesture, his heart pounds a little more inside its cage. 

However, you don’t notice. Only beam up at him with sparkling eyes and a bright smile, which turns into a gaping mouth and wide eyes as he stops you by the car parked at the curb. 

“This is your car?” you ask. You walk around it, hand gliding over the smooth surface and eyes diverting between him and the sports car in front of you. 

Tom nods. “It is. Would you like a ride?” 

Despite the nervous press of your lips together, you nod enthusiastically and open the passenger side door. Tom follows your lead and gets into the car. 

“One day, I will beg you to drive this car and I promise, if you don’t say yes―” You pause, tone serious and the threat clear on your tongue, yet the childlike glee on your face makes it hard for Tom to not laugh. “―you will regret it.” 

“Are you sure this is the car you want to drive? You haven’t seen all the choices.”

You stare wide-eyed at him. “There are more choices?! How many?!” 

He chuckles at the expression on your face. “Yes, there are plenty more choices. When would you like to try?”

It takes you a moment to answer. Gazing out the window and pressing your lips together in thought, Tom smiles at the sight. Mostly, his eyes stay on the road, but he can’t help but draw them to you. 

After a few moments, you turn your head to look at him. In his peripheral vision, he can see the glint in your eyes, the half-smug smile on your face. “Can I try more than one?”

“Oh, smart girl,” he says. “But for that, I need some reassurance you’re not gonna wreck my cars.”

“I’m not sure I can give that. You seem like you have enough money, right?” 

Tom shakes his head. A smile plays on his lips, very unlike the smile he usually has. “I’ll take that as the reassurance I need.” 

You laugh at that. A happy sound that fills the confined space of the car. A sound that has flutters start in Tom’s gut, and the smile tugging on his lips grow bigger and fonder. 

Nevertheless, your trip is cut short by the bar coming into view. Tom doesn’t let it show that he would like more time with you, doesn’t let it show that he wishes to ask you things he’s never asked women before. 

There’s something about you. Something new, something exciting, something _absolutely terrifying_. And something so magical, he can only wish to be someone you deserve. 

You smile at him as you open the car door. “Thank you for driving me. I really appreciate it.” 

“My pleasure,” he replies. “When’s your shift over?”

“Three.”

“I’ll pick you up.” 

You press your lips together, hiding a smile. A slight red creeps into your cheeks and you try to avoid his gaze, but he makes sure to keep his eyes on you. Despite not asking whether you wanted him to, he wants you to agree to him picking you up. The last thing he wants is for you to comply to something out of anything but will and want. 

Apparently, you want him to.

He’s parked outside the bar ten minutes before three. He gets out and leans against it, lighting a cigarette as he stands there. Tom isn’t one that wants to wait, he isn’t one people leave on hold or wait to see. 

But for you, he can wait. For you, he will show the patience he once had. 

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Tom looks up at the man whose voice it is. The familiar figure takes a few steps closer to him, stalking into the light. Unlike before, where his suit fit, his hair was slicked back and well-groomed, and the smile on his face was smug, he looks like a villain dragged out of a comic. The suit jacket has been discarded, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and showing a few sets of tattoos snaking up his forearms. His hair is a mess. The black hat is placed crookedly on top of his head, nearly falling off. And the once so smug smile has been switched to a wide smile showing rows of white teeth. It reaches his eyes, but only so much it becomes creepy, only so much it shows his true character.

“What has you come here? Are you looking for the woman?” His voice is smooth, though Tom knows something more lies behind it. 

He shakes his head. “This is the bar?” he asks and nods at the door. 

“Yes. Do you know who owns it?” 

Tom shakes his head. 

“The American.” The man nods at Tom’s slight change in expression. “Yes, I know. She deserves better, yet I predict he was her protection the other night.”

Tom sighs. “Rheon,” he says. 

“Barber.”

He rolls his eyes. “ _Barber_ , how is it that you threaten my place in the business, yet expect me to help you with the American?”

Rheon nods. “You make a good point, Hiddleston. Only, if it weren’t for me, the American would threaten you.” 

The smile grows before he can will it not to. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that.” He takes a drag of the cigarette. “I have business you don’t, business you can only dream of.”

“You expect me to believe you have business with the American?”

Tom nods. 

“No one has business with the American. He doesn’t do business with us.”

The smile creeps onto Tom’s lips before he can stop it. Tugs at the side, showing off how amused he’s feeling. Rheon doesn’t seem too happy about it, but he waits for Tom to reply. 

He takes another drag of the cigarette, lets it fall to the ground and stomps it out. Raising his head, he takes a step from the car and closer to Rheon. “You mean,” he says and takes another step closer, “the American doesn’t do business with _you_.”

Rheon scoffs. 

“Because he does do business with me.”

Rheon snears, though his reply doesn’t come as the door to the bar opens. It creaks as it opens fully, only the light of the streetlight showing who stands in the doorway. 

He holds the door open with his left arm, his eyes trained on the woman who follows after him and his other arms at the small of her back leading her out. 

Tom swallows, his jaw clenched at the sight of the man touching you. He can hear Rheon’s snicker at the sight, probably happy to have his theory proven. 

“Now,” says the Irish man, “what do we have here?” 

The two caught in the doorway look up. The smile falls to your face as your eyes reach Tom, but it falters a little as it flickers between him and Rheon. 

“You want something?” asks the American. His gentle look from when his eyes were trained on you has shifted. Tom can’t decipher the look the man gives, but it is not one he wishes to receive. 

Rheon takes a step closer to the two of you. He lifts a hand and points one long finger at you. “Her.”

“You can’t have her.” He moves to step in front of you, shielding your body with his. You peak out behind the huge man, lips pursed and eyes flickering between Tom and Rheon. 

“Can’t have her, you say?” Rheon tilts his head and rubs his hands together. “Would you like to explain why? Or shall I just go ahead with my business as usual?”

The American rolls his eyes. He shakes his head and directs his gaze at Tom with a slight raise of his brows. “What’s your deal in all this?”

“I’m just here to pick up a friend.” He’ll let the knowing you are said friend wait until the last moment possible. “Whatever you and Rheon here have in differences, I want no part of.” 

The American nods, and his gaze tells Tom he knows you’re the friend, yet he makes no change in his stance. 

Only, you do. 

Your eyes continue to flicker between Rheon and Tom, but they linger a little on Rheon from time to time. It’s as if you’re unsure whether or not he’ll actually do anything to you, as if you’re calculating what it’ll take to reach the car. 

“If I can’t have you hand her over, I guess I’ll have to use force.” 

Tom diverts his gaze to Rheon. The man reaches behind him and pulls a gun out of his pants. He turns off the safety and cocks the gun. In a few seconds, he has the barrel pointed at the American and his finger rests on the trigger. 

He’s not sure when he reacts, or how he reacts, but seeing the gun pointed at the person shielding you and knowing that it’s not enough, Tom takes a long step towards Rheon. He moves swiftly around and gains the man’s attention as he takes a hold of the gun and knocks into his shoulder. He twists Rheon’s hand, taking the gun, and jams his foot behind the man’s knees so that he loses balance and falls to the ground. 

With the gun in his hand, he turns on the safety and empties the chamber. He discards the magazine and the gun, chucking them both away from each other. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, _Loki_ ,” says Rheon. 

The gunshot rings in his ear. The pain hits long after, like an aftershock of the hurt instead of the cause. He drops slightly, back against the car and hand reaching for the left side of his stomach. His fingers are coated in something sticky that in the dim lighting from the streetlight looks more like syrup than blood. 

A light touch helps him steady himself. Tom doesn’t even realize it’s you that’s opening the car door and helping him inside until his seatbelt is buckled and his vision starts to blur. He can see the worry on your face, the slight panic in your sparkling eyes, and the fury that comes as you turn around to face the man who shot him. 

Tom doesn’t see what happens, only hears a loud groan he recognizes as getting a swift kick in the balls. The groan continues, though slightly dialed down as the driver’s door closes shut. 

As the engine starts, Tom manages to utter two words. “No hospital.”

It’s been three days. 

Tom Hiddleston hasn’t woken for three days. 

You’ve been sitting in a chair by his bed for the whole of those three days. Though you hadn’t known where to drive Tom, by using the car GPS there was a home button. You’d been met with a very worried man named Benedict that had helped you with him. 

The room isn’t like most hospital rooms, but rather cosy. You’ve been sitting with a book, looking over at Tom whenever it seems he’s making a sound or moving, but so far, those times have all been your imagination playing you. 

Now, though, it’s coming clear to evening and, though your boss gave you time off to see him, he said three days max. Those three days are up at midnight and you’re heart tugs at its strings. You’re not sure you can handle leaving him. Yet, risk losing your job isn’t a better idea. 

The choice feels like an impossible one. You’re happy when the door opens and Benedict steps in, taking your mind off the conflict tugging at you. 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be heading home?” he asks, voice soft. 

You shake your head. “He got shot because of me. I― I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened when I wasn’t here.” 

He flashes you a smile. “Well, in that case, would you like something more to eat? You’ve barely eaten and you need to eat. No matter what, he’d want you to eat.”

“What is there?” you ask, pursed lips and countless glances at Tom. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience in any―”

“Nonsense,” cut Benedict you off. “He… he cares for you. I don’t know what you did or how you two met, as he hasn’t said anything, but when you called, he cut a meeting short. He hasn’t smiled like this in years. Don’t waste away. That’s the last thing he would want.”

You smile at Benedict and take Tom’s hand in yours. It’s awfully cold, unlike the day he saved your life. You squeeze it and divert your gaze to Tom. “Thanks. There’s something…” You try to find the right word, but it doesn’t seem to come. “... something about him that… I don’t know what it is, but he’s so different.”

You look back to Benedict, shaking your head and smiling softly. The man, on the other hand, looks a little concerned. 

“Y/N,” he asks, and you nod. “Do you know what it is he does?”

An involuntary sigh escapes your lips. “I don’t know per se, but I do have a slight grasp on it. He’s in the same business as my boss, the bar being a front―though I’m not supposed to know that―and it’s also―”

You take a deep breath, trying not to let images of the night flash in your mind, but being unable to keep them at bay, you try to at least suppress your feelings. “He… he saved my life, a little over a week ago or―I don’t want to think about that too much―but he did so because I heard something I shouldn’t have and the people my boss were talking with noticed and they tried to make sure I wouldn’t do anything with the information by attacking me some night after.”

A tremble sneaks into your voice as you recall the words they’d spoken to you before Tom had come to your rescue. Your heart pound in your chest. You struggle with the words, but you force them out. “They… they tried, but failed because Tom came. And I―I was so scared and found comfort in Tom and they came again. Three nights ago, when Tom got shot. My boss stepped in front of me, ready to take a bullet, but he didn’t have to because Tom got the gun from the guy, but―” your voice breaks, “―he had two guns and Tom didn’t register that he’d been shot and I don’t know what came over me but I helped him into the car, kicked the guy in the nuts, told my boss goodbye and drove off.”

Benedict takes a few long strides over to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“I only came here because Tom said no hospital, but I didn’t really know where I was driving because I just pressed a home button on the GPS but… I.” 

You haven’t noticed the tears coming down your face until Benedict wipes them away. He smiles at you; not a pitiful smile, but a comforting one. It gives you some kind of validation, telling you that the feelings coming in the aftermath of all this, are valid and you’re allowed to cry and feel scared. 

Someone _did_ try to kill you. 

“But, food? We were thinking of ordering pizza. Would you like that?” 

“Yes, that sounds great.” The rumble of your stomach following draws a laugh from the man and he nods, asking for what topping you’d like. You tell him your favorite and smile. As he leaves out the door, you stop him by calling his name. 

He turns around. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shoots you a final smile and walks away, leaving you alone with a comatosed Tom. 

Your hand has still grasped his, but the coldness you felt when you first took it has subsided as your own body warmth has warmed it slightly. A lump sits stuck in your throat as your eyes glance over him. He looks so peaceful, fragile even. 

A man whose first impression you got was him killing three men without any ounce of hesitation. And now he’s lying in front of you, vulnerable, and all you can think about is what if he doesn’t wake up? 

You shake the thought away, not willing to let yourself think the thought. All it does is create a sordid feeling in your gut, an unwelcome feeling that spreads dread through your veins. 

“Please, Tom,” you say, and lift his hand to your face. “Please wake up.” You place a light kiss on his knuckles and move his hand to cup your cheek. It feels cold against it, but you revel in his touch, even if it’s you that makes it. 

You stay like that for the time it takes for pizza to arrive. When the door makes a movement, you place Tom’s hand back to where it lay, hoping whoever steps inside won’t notice. 

Benedict only smiles, giving you food and a can of soda (even if you haven’t asked for it), but you only thank him. “If you need anything else, we’re just down the stairs, okay?”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” And you nod, smiling gratefully at Benedict who moves out of the room, yet again leaving you alone with Tom. 

The deafening silence takes over now that you’re eating, and you decide to turn on the TV in the room. It turns right onto a news channel, but you’re not in the mood for more bad news, so you jump over to a channel showing an old sitcom. You don’t pay much attention to it, but it’s better than sitting there alone. 

Nevertheless, it doesn’t take much attention, as you can’t seem to focus, and the moment you’re done eating, you turn your gaze back to Tom. He’s breathing is steady, but you can’t help your heart sinking down to your gut. 

A thought strikes you as you look at him. You don’t want to entertain it, but something within you gives you no choice. You glance back at the closed door, and when it doesn’t seem to budge, you take the chance. 

You crawl into bed next to Tom, draping one of his arms around you and using his chest as a pillow. You’re on the side he wasn’t shot at, and lying there, you close your eyes. The TV is still going off in the background, but all you listen to is the steady rhythm of Tom’s beating heart. 

And to that, you fall asleep. 

Tom wakes slowly. 

First, there’s only voices that fade away eventually. Then there’s touch, a touch that lasts and lasts, which is replaced by more voices. 

And after what feels like forever, in a mix of his senses returning, he opens his eyes. The room he’s in is dark, almost so dark he thinks he’s blind, but then he can see you. Actually, he can _feel_ you. 

You’re lying in the crook of his arm, head resting on his chest and breathing heavily. A smile forms on his face at the sight because this means you willingly crawled into bed with him. Maybe you didn’t mean to fall asleep, but you do look super cute where you lie. Peaceful even. 

Tom doesn’t move, in fear of waking you, but the beating of his heart rises, something which is registered by the machine attached to him. The beeping goes up from the steady rhythm it had at first, and it continues to rise. He’s grateful it doesn’t wake you. 

However, he’s not grateful off the door that flies open and a Benedict that rushes inside. It startles you out of your sleep, and the only thing catching you from falling off the bed is Tom’s strong grip around you. Which is also when you do notice he’s awake, and he doesn’t think his heart can beat any faster than it does when you sling your arms around his neck. 

He’s right. It doesn’t beat faster, instead it skips a beat, literally. 

“You― You asshole,” you say and lightly punch him in the chest. “Getting shot like that, and then landing in a coma, what is wrong with you?”

Tom laughs and behind you sees Benedict shrug and walk out of the room, leaving the reprimanding to you. 

And, even if you don’t yell at him, your voice is firm and annoyed and adorably playful. “You had me worried sick. I couldn’t have you dying on me, I didn’t get to drive all of your cars, I did get to drive one though, it’s got blood all over it, by the way, but honestly, you have the audacity to actually get shot! I don’t understand how you could something so rec―”

Tom cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. He’s smiling as he does so, and it’s a quick kiss that he pulls away from before you can react. Despite the shock on your face, his smile stays on and he leans back with a content sigh. 

“I― I―” You don’t seem to be able to reply properly, one finger tracing your lips where his touched yours just a few moments ago. “Do that again.”

_That_ wasn’t his initial thought of what would come out of your mouth at first, but he complies. Your lips connect halfway, carrying with it a rush of adrenaline through his veins. His heart pounds faster as he drops back on the pillow, lips still attached to yours. 

His hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing you closer to him and stroking through your hair. His other hand lands on the small of your back, finding bare skin between the hem of your shirt and the lining of your pants. 

Tom does his best not to let the rush of being this close to you get the better of him, and enjoys the moment as much as he can, but when you do open your mouth and deepen the kiss by adding just the right amount of tongue, something goes off in him. His hand traces further up your back, and down again, cupping your ass. 

And, when you pull away and laugh with a question on your face, he can only nod. It doesn’t take that much for you to feel him poking the side of your hip, but he relishes in how lightly you take it. You only smile, shaking your head again and again, until Tom presses you closer again and lock your lips together. 

There is nothing the energy of kissing a woman who has captured his heart can ever compare to. But he does find it slightly annoying to hear his pulse beating irregularly behind him, giving off every tell on how he feels about kissing you. 

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t change it for the world.


End file.
